


You Can't Cover

by holdouttrout



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-31
Updated: 2007-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-15 21:28:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holdouttrout/pseuds/holdouttrout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The March challenge was to take a non-Han/Leia Harrison (or Carrie) scene and make it a Han/Leia scene. Instead, I took a scene from the Battlestar Galactica third-season episode "Maelstrom." There shouldn't be any real spoilers from that episode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can't Cover

On the wall there was a mural done in tiles, each piece a tiny fragment of color fitted right against the next. The entire wall was filled with pieces, and the background was mostly black, the deep black Leia only saw in space. But it was the middle of the wall that drew her eye and made her breathe faster, shallower. It was a riot of color, the tiles in harsh colors, seeming to fly out of the wall toward her.  
  
It was Alderaan, captured at the very instant of its death, and an image she never forgot and never needed to be reminded of.  
  
One minute she stood in shock, then next she was boiling with anger. She clenched her fists and found, to her surprise, that she held a paint can in her left hand and a brush in her right.  
  
She couldn't erase the memory, but at least she could cover the mockery in front of her. She dipped the brush into the paint, swiped it across the center, where it left a white streak behind, the thick paint succumbing to gravity and leaving heavy drips behind. She swept the brush over it again, but only a small portion was covered. She dipped the brush again and again, dipping up to her wrist until she was practically flinging paint at the tiles.  
  
She couldn't cover it fast enough.  
  
With a frustrated growl, she dropped the brush and hefted the paint can with both hands. She swung it back a bit and then splashed the paint in the very center of the wall, simultaneously dropping the can and basically shoving the waterfall of paint to cover the remaining tiles.  
  
She never saw him coming.  
  
His arm encircled her waist from behind, and she jerked her shoulder back against him to try to dislodge him. She wasn't prepared when instead of backing off, he came closer and traced her forehead with her other hand, pulling her hair away from her eyes. She felt him breathe in, felt him exhale across her neck. She smelled him--Han--a waft of something metal.  
  
She found herself reacting with blind heat as he kissed her neck, his tongue tracing a path up her neck behind her ear. Her breath shuddered, heavy gasps that left her shaking against him as he pressed behind her urgently, leaving her to support herself against the fesh paint with her forearm.   
  
He turned her around and pressed her to the wall, her feet sliding a bit in the paint as she tried to steady herself and failed, ending up just barely on her toes, his arms supporting her, enclosing her. She was just at the right height for him now, although she could feel the paint already in her hair, heavy and sticking to the long strands. He kissed her, hard, and her breath stopped out of desire as well as out of necessity.  
  
She shouldn't want this.  
  
Her hands clenched around the folds of his shirt to push him away, but he had already moved, bent and sucked at her collarbone and her hands drew him toward her instead. They slid underneath his shirt's collar to take it off,  _off_ , and maybe this was what she wanted anyway, maybe the only way she could really forget about the mural on the wall, behind her eyes every time she closed them.  
  
Her own shirt was loose at the neck, and he opened it, grazed her breast with his teeth, kissed her stomach. Her breath caught again and suddenly he lifted her. She put her legs around him automatically and he turned them both, taking them to the floor, still half-in the spilled paint.   
  
He gave her a lazy grin, tugged off her skirt, finished popping the buttons of her shirt. She watched him, having difficulty holding up her head because of the extra weight of the paint. His rough fingers caught against her skin and he swiped kisses on every inch of skin he uncovered. As he worked her underclothes off, his fingers left more paint in the crease where her legs and hips met, though when he saw it he just smirked and kissed right below the mark.  
  
She dropped her head and arched her back as his hands slicked under her thighs and hips and butt. He kissed her as he stroked her breast and positioned himself over her, entering her without breaking the kiss, and she lifted her own paint-covered hands and dug them into his shoulders, leaving faint white splotches of her fingerprints behind.  She looked at them and over them at the white-covered wall and found the paint disappearing into the cracks between the tiles, seeping away as the image beneath reappeared. Even as she tried to shut her eyes and look away, her body responded to Han inside her, the room dissolving as the mural became clearer and clearer...  
  
...and she woke with one last strangled breath, a ragged cry almost on her lips, her hips twisting into the bed, tasting the salt of mingled sweat and tears.


End file.
